


Whisked away

by SilenceoftheLlamas



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Decepticon Prowl, Dubious Consent, Gore, M/M, Sticky Sex, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz gets more than he bargained for while infiltrating the Decepticon base. Dub/con and happenings of the sticky variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter one

He was like a summers breeze. Light and warm, gently brushing past you and caressing you as they went before leaving you with an icy cold chill made even colder by the harsh sun you were left to face on your own.

He also came just as quickly as he left. Prowl sat alone in his office, drawing up plans for the decepticons next attack on a power plant for energon that they desperately needed. He almost didn’t hear the pedefalls behind him. Almost. When their owner was close enough for him to feel in precise detail with his doorwings, he cocked his gun. The chink of metal made the mystery mech behind him freeze on the spot, obviously surprised that they’d been caught.

Prowl slowly turned around to regard the mech. They sported an almost identical paint job to his own and a stunning blue visor. In his hand was an energon blade that hadn’t yet been activated, however the mech’s finger was hovering over the switch that would bring life to the dull handle.

“Frag”

Prowl didn’t have any time to react before he felt a sharp pain in his neck and went limp.

* * *

He awoke again with a throbbing helm and a sore neck. He’d been drugged, excellent. Soundwave would _never_ let him hear the end of it.

He gingerly stood, quickly taking in his office to ensure nothing was out of place before quickly leaving. He’d need to report the breech and complain about Soundwaves incompetence at keeping intruders out.

Before he got too far, he encountered a visored mech. He looked strikingly familiar. He had a lithe, silver frame that boasted speed _and_ flexibility with a crimson visor and viciously clawed hands. Prowl liked what he saw, although he couldn’t quite place his finger on why they looked familiar. Compared to the absolute _dogs_ he was surrounded by, this mech was quite the find. The diamond in the rough, so to speak. He was about to inquire what their designation was so he knew who to sought out should he requite some ‘company’, only to be interrupted by Soundwave. What a tricksy fellow.

“Designation: Meister.” Ah, he’d read his mind. How rude. “Assignment: Tactical Officers Personal Assistant.”

Ooh, perfect. Prowl nodded, very pleased with this twist of fate. “Very well. Follow me.” He twirled around on the spot, walking back the way he came at a brisk pace. The other mech – Meister – kept up well. Once at Prowls office, Prowl keyed in the pass codes and walked in.

He’d have to complain later. Now, he had a Personal Assistant to have fun with.

Now, what was it PA’s did again?

* * *

 

Meister functioned well as a PA. Very well. Prowl didn’t know how he functioned without him.

What Prowl _especially_ liked was that Meister played along with his advances and that on numerous occasions they had shared a berth. Yes, that he most certainly enjoyed.

Now, with his systems rumbling, he indulged Meister with a few more moments of lazing around in berth, allowing the mech to place his helm on his own chest. Normally such intimacy with others was frowned upon – who had _time_ for this _autobot_ nonsense – but Prowl had long ago destroyed the surveillance cameras in his quarters and nobody would ask.

It was in this moment of weakness when suddenly Meister spun around and pinned Prowl and his arms to the berth. In his hand was an energon blade that was humming with life, glowing dangerously close to Prowls throat. Meisters visor turned to that same stunning blue as the mech in his office, and the silver gave way to a black and white paint job. Prowl snarled. _That’s_ where he recognised him. And now that he could get a better look, he could place a name to the face.

“Jazz” He hissed, optics narrowing in distate.

“Sorry ‘bout this. Ah _could_ yet ya live, but yah’ve seen meh.”

Prowl barked out a laugh. “You were planning on letting me live? How _rich_.”

“Yah not so bad. ‘Sides, Ah got what Ah needed from ya.”

“An _autobot_ feeling sympathy for a _decepticon_? My my, you really are an odd one.” Jazz’s visor darkened and his mouth pulled down into a frown. The sound of an alarm startled them both. Neither were expecting it, and Jazz turned around to glare at the door before returning his attention to Prowl.

“Change a’ plan. Ah’ll let ya live – fer now.” And with that he slunk away like a panther from Prowl towards the door, palming it open before sprinting away.

He’d got Prowl and he’d got Prowl good. Prowl would _never_ admit to Meister being Jazz as they’d worked so closely together and yet he hadn’t noticed. If he said anything – if _anyone_ did – he was _ruined_. Prowl clenched his fists and ground his denta together. Giving an angered shout, he snatched his blaster from the shelf and stormed out of his quarters, intent on putting a few bullets through Jazz’s helm.


	2. Chapter two

The Autobots didn’t even see them coming.

After they had launched an attack on their base, after which Meister – no, _Jazz,_ had disappeared, Megatron had pushed Prowl to the limit to plan a revenge attack.

It worked magnificently and they had a large supply of Autobot prisoners to prove it. Jazz was one of them.

Soundwave in all of his infinite knowledge instructed Prowl to go down to his cell and take him into an interrogation room and squeeze as much information out of him as possible. Prowl was only too happy to do so, and now Jazz was nicely chained up to a wall in a dim room with rusting, crumbling walls and a distinct smell of rancid energon hanging in the air.

Prowl sat down on a chair facing him and simply stared at him. Jazz stared back through his cracked visor.

And Prowl stared.

And stared.

And stared.

Enough was enough, and Jazz shifted uncomfortably. He felt Prowls optics burning into him as if he were seeing past his armour and inside him, viewing the mechanisms that gave him movement, the ability to transform and life itself. “Ain’t ya gonna do somethin’?”

“No.”

“Ya just gonna stare me to death?”

“If that were possible, then yes.”

Jazz laughed, his chains rattling. “This is gonna be fun, Prowler.”

“My name is Prowl.” He hissed, doorwings flaring into a ‘v’ and suddenly standing up with so much force that his chair fell backwards. Jazz pressed back into the wall slightly. He was well aware that he was completely defenceless and he had incredibly limited movement. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that Prowl wouldn’t hurt him because of Meister – he would. He most certainly would, if the sounds of absolute fury Prowl made while he was hunting him down after he blew his cover were anything to go by.

There wouldn’t be a rescue this time. He hoped Megatron was generous enough to negotiate a release.

Prowl took a deep intake and his doorwings lowered back into their neutral position. He released it slowly, ending it with a small smile that was empty and emotionless, promising a painful experience for Jazz. He slowly walked towards Jazz, and when he was close enough he gently lifted his chin and pushed his head back as far back as it could go, his clawed finger tips scratching and digging into Jazz’s throat. Jazz stiffened, unwilling to move lest Prowls fingers lodged themselves inside his throat.

“Let’s remember that, shall we?”

Jazz pressed his lips together into a thin line and managed a small nod, Prowls claws pricking his throat and drawing small beads of energon. Prowl glanced down uninterestedly and his smile grew when he saw the energon. “Unfortunately, I’ve been tasked with getting information out of you. While it would be far, far easier to plug in and take a look around, I fear that you have some interesting firewalls. Am I correct in this assumption?”

“What do ya think?”

“I take that I am correct. Now, this leaves me with very few options. Now, you can save us both the hassle and just tell me, or I’m going to have to move onto some more _extreme_ methods.”

“Ah ain’t tellin’ ya anythin’.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Prowl replied, moving his hand away from Jazz’s throat and instead using it to hold his face, thumb rubbing under a damaged optic. His other hand came up to rest on his shoulder, incredibly close to where there was a long gash running from his shoulder down to his knee. It looked painful and it was already infected, the metal around it discolouring to a shade of green. The energon that had clotted in it was leaking infected fluids and looked wet. Very slowly, he slid his hand along until he came to where it started and slid his fingers inside, making sure to shove them in as harshly as he could. Jazz released a strangled yelp, whimpering at the pain it caused.

Prowl took a small pleasure in the fact he could draw such delicious sounds out of Jazz with pain or pleasure. “I’d like to know why you were first sent here.”

“Ah thought that’d be obvious.”

“Tell me.” Prowl wiggled his fingers, forcing the clotted energon out of the wound and drawing out more energon and infected fluids. Jazz whimpered again, trying to move as far away from Prowl as possible.

“Ta assassinate ya.”

“Was failing part of the plan?”

“No”

“Was creating a false identity part of the plan?”

“No”

“What should you have done?”

“Returned to the base”

“And why didn’t you?”

Jazz was silent and didn’t reply. He looked down as best as he could with Prowls hand keeping his helm firmly in place. Prowl pinched a wire he found harshly. “Why.”

“Ah didn’t want ta” Jazz gasped, back arching slightly as he hissed in pain.

“Pride?”

“Interest.”

Prowls doorwings perked up at that. “With the information?”

“With you.”

Prowl immediately tore his hand out of Jazz’s shoulder and stepped away from him, breaking all contact. Jazz gave a shout of pain and whimpered when Prowl sat down again. He crossed his legs, rested an elbow on his knee and regarded Jazz with cold optics. “Interesting.”

* * *

 

It had been joors since Prowl first went in there and nobody had heard a single thing from him. However, nobody was worried. Prowl held records of being in there for cycles before he emerged, covered in energon, and informing them that they’d have to return a carcass to the Autobots. This track record was also known among the Autobots, however they didn’t know it was Prowl who held it. They thought it would be someone like _Soundwave_.

Jazz was still conscious; however there was energon all over himself and the floor along with parts of his body. Various internal organs were on the floor, however none of them were vital or hard to replace. Prowl knew when to start inflicting potentially fatal punishments for faltering.

He had been mostly stripped of his armour, his limbs almost entirely bare and his stomach plating lay on the other side of the room after being brutally ripped from him. There were coolant tracks on Jazz’s face from when he had started to buckle from the pain.

But now, the chains that held Jazz’s legs were laying abandoned on the floor around Prowls feet. Prowl himself was sitting in the chair, rubbing his hands with a cleaning rag to clear them of the fluids that covered them. He was watching Jazz with dim optics as the other mech squirmed under the scrutiny, an obvious high charge running through his circuits. The circuits that had been made visible through the loss of armour, and in some cases even the protoform, were clearly sparking.

Jazz tried desperately to press his thighs together to hide the lubricant that was running down them in rivets. He was loath to admit that despite the extreme pain he was in, some sick part of him found themselves _enjoying_ it and it felt _good_. His panel had been torn away earlier by Prowl not long after he’d discovered the heat there. There was absolutely _nothing_ that could stop Prowl from taking him there and then as brutally as he wished, however he stayed firmly seated in his chair with a predatory look in his optics.

Prowl stood and approached Jazz again, dropping the cleaning rag onto the chair.

Jazz tensed as he saw Prowl approaching. As much as he wanted nothing more than to hook his legs around his hips and beg that he _did something_ to get rid of the painfully high charge that ran rampant through his systems, the last time he did that Prowl saw fit to tear some of his armour off.

So he wouldn’t move unless instructed.

As he had learned.

Jazz was so blinded by the agony he was in that he didn’t realise Prowl was conditioning him. All he knew was that he wanted the pain to _stop_.

Prowl stopped when their chassis’ were touching, and he gently tilted Jazz’s head up so he was forced to look him in the optic. “You’ve been very naughty, Jazz.” He purred into his audial, making Jazz shudder with a fresh rush of lubricant dribbling out of his valve. “What _am_ I going to do with you?”

“Ah’ll be good” Jazz whimpered, knowing that if he didn’t comply and play along with Prowls sick game, he’d be losing another organ.

“Let me in.” Prowl replied, tapping the data port at the top of Jazz’s neck where it met his helm. Jazz paused before Prowl harshly nipped his neck, drawing energon, and repeated himself with a growl. The panel protecting it hesitantly slid aside and Prowl licked the wound almost apologetically as he opened a panel on his wrist and slid out a cable, quickly plugging in.

He was met with thick firewalls, however he knew just how to get past them.

“Good mech” Prowl said, the hand that wasn’t currently pressed into the wall to keep it close to the data port reaching down and pulling one of Jazz’s legs up so it was hooked over his hip plating. Jazz quickly swung his other leg up to join it, ignoring the way his joints protested and wires sparked. He was rewarded with a long line of kisses going down his throat and a rough grind of hip plating against his own. He barely held back a moan.

“Have you been good while you were away?”

“As Ah can be”

Prowl slipped a digit into Jazz’s hip, teasing the wires he found. “I hope no one else has touched what is mine. I’ll have to punish them.” Prowl wasn’t going to deny that he had considered Meister as his. If he saw any other Decepticon give him a glance that lingered far too long to be a curious glance he would feel a dark, heavy feeling bubble up inside him and that Decepticon would soon find themselves surrounded by bad fortune. Jazz clutched onto the chains attached to his wrists and whimpered. While he _had_ received offers, he had rejected them. Even from mechs he didn’t hesitate to leap into berth with before – it didn’t feel right to. No, he had completely and utterly given himself to Prowl as Meister. There was very little he had left to give.

“No” Jazz panted, finding coherent thought more difficult than before with a deft digit in his hip, the feeling of Prowl breathing against his neck and the way his hips ground against his own.

“Good” Prowl growled, suddenly pulling Jazz upwards. There was a faint click of a panel being opened before Jazz was pulled back down again and fully seated on his length. He moaned and buried his face into Prowls neck as best he could, mouthing the metal. Prowl grit his teeth together to stop himself from making any noise.

He had used this tactic many times before on other Decepticons when Megatron suspected they were up to something or hiding information from him – never a prisoner nor an Autobot – and it usually worked. Overload the mech and when the energy is surging through the connection, go against the flow and bypass the firewalls. It always ended up with two crashed bots and it was rather painful , however it got information.

He could feel the crackle of Jazz’s charge and he knew that Jazz didn’t have long until he was pushed over the edge. Nibbling along Jazz’s neck, he set a fast and hard pace that had Jazz scraping against the wall. Jazz was tugging at his chains, desperate to be able to touch the other mech and return the favour, however Prowl wasn’t letting him. His visor flickering was the only warning Prowl had that his overload was imminent as his vocal processor had glitched.

As soon as it hit with a garbled burst of static from Jazz, Prowl bypassed his firewalls and quickly stole all of the information he could before crashing.

* * *

 

Prowl onlined again on the floor of the interrogation room. Jazz was still offline, and Prowl knew that he would be until he was repaired. He felt a small shred of guilt that Jazz was in that state; however he quickly crushed it down. Guilt was not something a Decepticon had. He smirked as he comm.ed Hook. He’d be keeping Jazz, he’d make certain of it.


	3. Chapter three

When an agitated Optimus came up on the screen, Megatron had told him Jazz had died during the interrogation and that there was very little left that was salvageable.

All of the Decepticons believed him to be dead.

Just two knew different.

Hook had agreed to fixing Jazz in private for Prowl, and promised that he’d keep his mouth shut. What Prowl wanted Prowl got, and the lengths he would go to were astounding. So, now that he was entirely repaired and all of his internal organs replaced and functioning, Jazz stayed in Prowls quarters.

Prowls’ quarters wasn’t a place people went willingly. They were either kicking and screaming as they were dragged in, or incredibly overcharged and shoved in by mechs with a vengeance. Prowl made sure that Jazz couldn’t leave. He had put a collar around his neck, full of explosives that were rigged to blow if he tried to take off the collar or walk out of the door to his quarters. It was black and thick, and it made Jazz look incredibly cute in Prowls opinion. He almost felt _dirty_ with what he did to Jazz.

He enjoyed what he did immensely, and the fact that it was his and his alone to enjoy just made it all that much _better_.

Prowl kept Jazz well fuelled, the third time Jazz went into stasis from low energy was just insulting, and gave him free movement through his quarters (which, due to him being an officer, were his and his alone and rather large) and regular overloads.

Jazz still acted like Meister did, curling up to Prowls side while they were in berth together, and he made no attempts to escape (the first time the collar detonated told him loud and clear that it was not a good idea and was in fact rather painful and traumatic). He complied with Prowls wishes and spent most of his time recharging and reading datapads from Prowls shelves.

It was currently day time, so Prowl was in his office ploughing through datapad after datapad and absorbing data to formulate a plan to get the energy they needed. His mind was wandering towards the black and white mech in his quarters who, right now, was probably still in recharge. He purred and licked his lips, the taste of the other mechs energon still on them. Did he feel guilty for biting him so hard he drew energon? No. Absolutely not. The sound Jazz made just served to excite him further and he drew energon in more than just one place. After, Jazz was understandably annoyed with him however he simply went to recharge instead of swatting him around the head. The last time he’d done that he’d waved goodbye to his hands. The only reason he got them back was because he had gotten down on his knees and begged.

Begged and pleaded like a mech pleaded for his life.

Jazz was well aware that he would only live as long as Prowls interest in him did. The moment it started to wane was the moment Jazz would see his life flash before his eyes. He would be cast aside like a spoilt child threw away a broken toy.

Right now, however, he was curled up on Prowls berth in recharge. When he woke up again, he knew that he wouldn’t want to move (and he couldn’t – Prowl had made sure of that earlier) so he’d indulge himself in some well-earned laze in time.

* * *

 

When Prowl returned from his shift, Jazz was laying on the berth in a way that showed off his frame and he was tracing shapes onto the berth surface. The thick black collar made the ‘look’ for Prowl and he couldn’t stop the rev of his engine. Jazz shyly glanced upwards before flicking his optics back down again. His visor was long gone, shattered when the collar first exploded and Hook didn’t replace it. Prowl saw every single that his scarred optics made, and he was one of the only living mechs that had ever seen them. Jazz hated that he was without his visor, as he had spent the vast majority of his life with it permanently in place, however he didn’t want to be punished by Prowl for asking if he could have it back. So partially blind he stayed.

The datsun advanced towards his captive, slipping into the berth next to him. He reached out and stroked a hand down Jazz’s thigh, watching with hooded optics as Jazz shuddered and his tracings faltered slightly.

Jazz looked up at Prowl and spotted a doorwing. He leaned forwards and started tracing patterns on it, pressing his thigh into Prowls hand and gently kissing him like one would a long-time lover. Prowl shuddered under the attention, still not quite used to having anyone touch his doorwings tenderly, and pushed back into the kiss, biting down on Jazz’s bottom lip harshly, taking care to avoid the wound he had made earlier. Jazz gasped and Prowl stole the opportunity to tangle their glossas together, quickly rolling over so that Jazz was underneath him.

Just where he wanted him.

Jazz stopped tracing designs on his doorwings in favour of running his hands along the span of them, utilising the mag pulses in his hands over the more sensitive areas. Prowl groaned into the kiss, pressing his doorwings into Jazz’s talented hands and tightening his grip on Jazz’s thigh so that the metal crumpled under his hand. The mech growled out but did nothing more. Prowl smirked and with his other hand he started stroking the mech’s audial horn, relishing in the moans he drew from the mech beneath him. Primus, but he couldn’t get enough of them. When he began to grind his hips against the others, he was delighted to find that Jazz grinded back against him. Purring into his mouth, he removed his hand from the audial horn and began slowly sliding it down his body towards his panel, tapping on it in a silent order. _Open_.

Jazz obliged with only a seconds hesitation.

Prowl wasted no time in ravishing the exposed area, but not quite giving Jazz what he needed to be pushed over the edge. This frustrated the mech, who was reduced to a whimpering mess that could only beg and plead for release. Prowl _loved_ it when Jazz did this and so he, obviously, did not give the mech what he wanted until he’d had his fill.

* * *

 

By the time the black and white pair lay side by side, exhausted by their activities, Jazz was panting heavily as his cooling fans worked over time, desperately trying to expel the heat in his frame to a more manageable level. Prowl wasn’t much better, however he wasn’t sporting dents and bite marks on his hips, thighs, waist and neck. There was a stray bite mark on his berthmates shoulder, and he didn’t remember inflicting it. How troublesome – he’d have to correct that.

Despite the fact his thighs and hips were still stained, wet and sticky with different fluids, including energon from a place energon should not be coming from, Jazz was content to just roll over and, as usual, snuggle up to Prowl and fall into recharge.


	4. Chapter four

Many evenings were a repeat occurrence. Sometimes Prowl was on a mission or he was in meetings with the high command and they did not interface until the next morning, and Prowl was usually more violent and demanding. Jazz never escaped with less than a few freely bleeding wounds and a multitude of dents that required Hooks attention the moment Prowl was out of the room (experience proved that Prowl didn’t like people touching his things).

However, tonight would be different and quite frankly Jazz was scared.

Prowl had been away for a decacycle. A full decacycle of going cold turkey after interfacing multiple times a day – unless he had gone back on his word to Jazz and had used another mech to satisfy himself – left Jazz wondering how he was going to treat him when he returned. If under a full cycle made him vicious, how close to deactivation would this encounter leave him?

As it turned out, he needn’t had worried about _that_. The Decepticon had thought of a game for them to play during his time on foreign shores.

On his mission, he had encountered a substance that caused hallucinations beyond their wildest imaginations. He put a pinch of it into a cube of high grade, swirled it and handed it to Jazz.

“Drink.” He ordered, kneeling down in front of Jazz, who was sitting on his legs. Jazz took the cube and was about to take it all in one go, like he usually had to, before Prowl moved the cube away after one gulp. “Slowly.” He purred, one thumb wiping away the energon that had escaped onto Jazz’s lip. His faceplates flushed and he nodded, drinking it at a far more sedate pace.

He was already starting to feel the effects, random swirls dancing around the room and making his head spin. He looked over to Prowl and- were… were those _hearts_ spinning around his helm?! They looked like the kind he’d seen Carly doodle in her notebook.

And he was enthralled with them.

Slowly crawling forwards, he reached up to try and touch them. His hand went straight through them instead, and they all disappeared into puffs of smoke.

How disappointing.

Nevertheless he was not to be deterred and he began to search for them again, only to have something else placed into his hands.

It was a long object, or at least he thought it was until he closed his digits around it and it evaporated in a similar way to how the hearts had, the smoke looking eerily like the smoke from a cigar, to find that he was now holding a key.

An awfully familiar key.

Jazz looked up at Prowl who simply nodded at him, gesturing for him to use it.

The collar that had remained clamped around his neck like a death sentence fell down to his knees with a clatter, and Jazz rubbed the space it had previously occupied. Free. It was free.

_He_ was free.

Make a break for it or stay and see what Prowl had planned out?

In the end curiosity beat stupidity (he was in a base surrounded by _Decepticons_ who thought he was _dead_ – and if Prowl caught him…) and he simply looked up at Prowl again, who was silently contemplating Jazz’s appearance.

While he no longer donned the thick black collar that made him look like a house cat, he still had that _endearing_ look on his face and a curious glint in his optics. It was tempting.

He pulled Jazz’s face towards his, hands cupping his cheeks, and pressed his lips to the others plump ones. Much to his delight Jazz reciprocated and threw his arms around the others neck, pulling him closer. Clearly, that drug was doing more than making him hallucinate.

Or the mech who had given it to him had lied.

He felt his hands inadvertently curl into fists, his claws scraping at his palm, mouth twisting into a snarl. Jazz noticed this change and pulled away, giving him a concerned look. Was he doing something wrong?

Quickly rubbing the back of his helm to assure Jazz he’d done nothing wrong – how could his Jazz do anything wrong? – Prowl forced himself to calm down.

He would have to trust them. After all, they knew the consequences being a lair.

Harshly biting down on Jazz’s lip and licking over it in apology – not that it was sincere in the slightest – he moved his hands to wrap around Jazz, one inappropriately low and another on his mid-back, pulling him closer.

* * *

 

If there was one thing that could put Prowl in a good mood, it was seeing Jazz writhe beneath him, teetering on the edge yet not being given the push he needed to go over.

The drug had successfully tricked Jazz into believing that his hands were bound above his head, and he was saying something about seeing a unicorn and a rainbow. Prowl was also rather pleased that other than a few bites here and there (honestly, it was mostly his neck and lips) he hadn’t damaged Jazz in the slightest.

So now, as he grinded into Jazz with a torturously slow pace, satisfied smirk plastered on his face, he found himself _enjoying_ it.

* * *

 

After he’d managed a draw a third overload out of Jazz (who knew he could scream that loudly?), Prowl decided to let him rest for a little while so he could complete some work.

He was not expecting, however, to be shot the moment he walked into his office.

Snarling in pain, Prowl immediately clamped a hand over the freely-bleeding wound and whacked the alarm with the other as he stared down the Autobot holding the still-smoking gun.

He was going to _murder_ them.

* * *

 

Ripping someone apart piece by piece when they just wouldn’t stay still was very, very messy. Prowl most certainly wasn’t new to this at all, but it never failed to amaze him how desperate some were to survive when the chances were almost non-existent. The Autobot killed, mostly just scraps and spilled energon on his office floor, Prowl stumbled out to see just what was going on.

Soundwave’s security system had quite clearly failed _yet_ _again_ , much to Prowls disgust, and all of them were paying the price for it. Didn’t that mech think?!

As it was, Prowl was wondering what to do next when he suddenly realized something vital. He hadn’t locked the door to his quarters, used to Jazz not being able to get near.

_Frag_!

He sprinted back down, hoping that the Autobots hadn’t found him.

They had.

They had taken him.

_They had taken._

Snarling like a caged animal, Prowl spun around and stormed away towards the sound of a fight. Nothing would be able to stop him from tearing the first mech he found apart, not even Megatron himself. He was _furious_.

* * *

 

Maybe that hadn’t been the _best_ idea.

So blinded by fury as he was, he didn’t take into account that he was up against a faction who were just as angry as he was, fully believing that Jazz had been killed while in their possession.

So now he was roughly greeted with the floor of the Autobot brig, energon bars humming with life behind him. _Fabulous_.

They had seen fit to cuff his hands together behind his back, making it incredibly awkward for Prowl to move. His arms were pressing painfully against his doorwings, compressing them and forcing them towards his back.

Well, it couldn’t get any worse than this.


	5. Chapter five

A very close eye was kept on Jazz.

Ratchet had grimly presented his Prime with a datapad cataloging every single injury Jazz had. Missing organs, bad patch-jobs, infected welds, bite marks, scratches, dented plating and the amount of drug found in his energon. That didn’t even begin to cover what his interface array looked like.

Jazz wasn’t talking, either. Still under the effects of the drug, he refused to let anyone touch him and ran away from anyone who got too close. Even _Blaster_ couldn’t get close enough.

Any words they said were ignored, rolling off him like water on a ducks back. He stayed in the corner, clutching his knees to his chest and shaking, tears streaking down his face.

Five joors later, Jazz was finally letting people inside his personal space and was even allowing contact, but most importantly he was _talking_ again.

“Why were ya runnin’ away from us, Jazz?” Blaster asked, cautiously putting his hand on Jazz’s shoulder. Jazz pressed his lips together and looked away meekly before returning his gaze to his friends face.

“Ah think it was the drug – ya didn’ look like ya’selves. Ya looked dead ‘n’ infected.” Jazz shuddered. “Ah don’ know what that drug was, but Ah never wanna have it again.”

“And you wont.” Ratchet said, handing Jazz a cube. The purple liquid was thick and minerals were visibly suspended in it. “Drink this. I have a few questions I’d like to ask.”

Jazz nodded and began to drink the cube. Despite its vile taste, his tanks were pinging him that they were empty and in dire need of fuel.

“First things first: The frag happened to you? And your visor – you never let anyone take it.”

Freezing mid-sip, Jazz’s optics widened. He knew his visor was gone and he knew where it was, but it wasn’t easy to get to. Prowl had it. But was he going to tell Ratchet this? No. Absolutely not.

“It’s… kinda hazy.” Jazz began, formulating the lies in his head. Here and there he’d sprinkle in the truth – he’d only lie when he needed to. “Ah remember being captured when the Decepticons ambushed the base. They locked meh up in some kinda chamber. That’s when it starts ta get hazy an’ Ah don’t remember much.” Jazz replied, sipping at his energon. “All Ah remember is that the guy who interrogated me had red optics, which doesn’t help any.”

“Considering it was you who they had, it was probably one of their better interrogators. This leaves us with Vortex and Soundwave.” Ratchet mused, mulling over the information Jazz just gave him.

“Jazz, if there is anything else you know, you must tell us.” Optimus said from where he was sat on a medical berth. Jazz would have jumped at his deep rumbling tone if it weren’t for the hand Blaster still had on his shoulder. He’d almost forgotten he was there, so used to presences that swallowed you up and drowned out your surroundings.

He’d almost thought it was Prowl.

“Ah don’t remember leavin’ the room ya found meh in. Ah might have been in th’ medbay a few times, though.”

“Considering the state I found your internals in, that’s likely.” Ratchet chipped in. “Multiple traces of past surgery, mass scarring and almost none of your internal organs are your original ones. Your t-cog is also shattered, and that shows no sign of repair.”

Jazz winced as he vividly remembered getting _that_ one.

At the looks Ratchet and Optimus gave him, Jazz realized with a sinking feeling that it didn’t go unnoticed, and he didn’t have a visor to hide behind anymore.

_Frag_.

Optimus said his name in a slightly lower tone than usual. His warning tone. ‘ _Spill. Now_.’

“Ah remember that part of the interrogation. Ah don’t think Ah shared any Autobot secrets.” Jazz winked, trying to gloss over it and act cool. Nope, nothing wrong here! Most certainly not hiding anything!

The looks he got told him they weren’t buying it, but in the end Optimus nodded resignedly. “If there’s anything you wish to talk about, my door is always open.”

* * *

 

Ratchet, on the other hand, was not so easy to break.

He was always watching Jazz when he thought the other wasn’t looking, a worried look on his face. Jazz felt a flicker of amusement at that. Ratchet the Hatchet was worried! He _did_ care about the crew!

When Jazz was allowed to wander around by himself again, sessions in the rec room allowed him to catch up with the latest gossip and find out just what was happening to their current prisoners.

Or, most importantly, Prowl.

Jazz couldn’t help but feel that he _had_ to get the mech _out_. He knew that it was wrong and somewhat sick, but he couldn’t help it. They were interrogating him! Hurting his Prowl! Heck, they’d even brought _Ironhide_ in. Ironhide _despised_ Prowl. Everyone did, actually. But not everyone was a walking gun turret with anger management issues.

Jazz knew something had to be done, but before he could get started he had to see Prowl.

* * *

 

The Autobots were not as cruel as the Decepticons. Even the most hated among the crew were given grace periods where they were left well and truly alone, the only company being a security camera trained onto where they sat, chained to the table and the chair.

Or, in Prowls case, just the chair. Ironhide had evidently ripped it from the floor and thrown it around if the crumpled mess slightly embedded into the wall was anything to go by.

Being nighttime, it was graveyard shift for those on monitor duty, and so it was highly unlikely anyone would be paying attention to the cameras. Jazz wasn’t the Head of Special Operations for his good looks, and re-wiring the camera to show the last five minutes of footage on loop was child’s play to him.

Prowl didn’t even start when Jazz suddenly dropped in, and simply watched him as Jazz stalked towards him. The black and white stopped just mere paces away, and quietly took in the doorwinger.

Even with a doorwing hanging limply on his back, feebly twitching now and then, a cracked optic that every now and then would flicker to complete darkness, a split lip and dented cheek, Prowl looked dangerous. There was anger bubbling beneath the surface, barely restrained from overflowing and releasing the caged animal that was Prowl.

Oh yes, he was furious.

_The roles have reversed_ , Jazz mused as he slowly made the last few paces to Prowl. “They’re mad, yanno. Ya might wanna placate them a lil’ bit.”

“And why on Cybertron would I do that?” Prowl growled out, revealing the sharp teeth that hid behind his lip.

“Ah was Third in Command, unofficial moral officer, entertainer, host extraordinaire, friend to all. They’re angry an’ they want blood. They’ve gone easy on ya.”

Prowl choked out a laugh. “If this is them going easy, I’m very eager to see what they’ve planned next.”

“Ah’ll strike a deal with ya. Ya give meh ma visor back, an’ Ah’ll see what Ah can do about ya… situation.”

“No need. It’s quite homey here. All it needs is to be a little more _stifling_.”

“Ah ain’t kiddin’.”

“Neither am I.”

Jazz sighed and shifted his weight onto one leg, his hips shifting slightly to accommodate the weight. The way Prowls optics followed the movement and lingered far too long to be a curious glance prompted Jazz to clear his vents to gain his attention again. Prowl slowly drew his optics away and gave Jazz an annoyed glare, to which Jazz raised an eyebrow at.

“Seriously, mech?”

“Very.” Prowl purred, glossa flicking out over his lips. Jazz tried his hardest to stop his engine from reacting.

“Just remember that the Autobots aren’t as forgivin’ as ya think.” Jazz closed the distance between them and planted a noisy kiss on Prowls forehead, prompting a deep, threatening growl from the mech. Giggling, Jazz skipped away. “Ah’ll be back same time tomorrow darlin’.”

And with that, Jazz was gone, leaving Prowl to simmer in his anger until he had someone to take it out on.


End file.
